


"Where's your family?"

by thisloveisradiant



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Fushimi's thrilling adventure to find his right family, Gen, I'm sorry for writing this, Unbeta-ed, platonic Sarumi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 18:29:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3498479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisloveisradiant/pseuds/thisloveisradiant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six times Fushimi didn’t want to answer a simple question and one time he didn’t have to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Where's your family?"

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zumuyuki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zumuyuki/gifts).



> A major thank and a big hug to zumuyuki for supporting me and giving me motivation to write this fanfic!  
> Part 2 of this fic is based on a headcanon of fushiyatas (tumblr). Thank you for an awesome idea!  
> part 3 of this fic is heavily inspired by a headcanon of ridiasfangirlings (tumblr). Thank you!

 

**1.**

Ever since early childhood, Fushimi Saruhiko had been considered an incredibly smart boy with extended knowledge beyond his age. He was capable of answering every question that people felt comfortable asking a pre-elementary level child. It was not until a particular event happened on his 5-year-old birthday that Fushimi realized there was a simple question he didn’t know how to answer (no - he corrected himself – he just didn’t want to).

That day, he was honestly surprised when Kisa, his mother, announced that she would host a birthday party for him. The young boy knew the date of his birth as an identifiable information rather than a chance to have fun. Birthday, to him, was either a normal day that nobody bothered to mention anything, or a day when his father Niki came home bringing dinner full of things he hated,  gave him a Rubik cube only to snatch it back and giggly solve it in seconds.

Hence, Fushimi was extremely excited for his very first birthday celebration. He watched with sparkling eyes as the hired staff worked their magic on his normally dull house. The decoration was over the top, in his opinion, with all the bright lights, crimson carpets, and beautiful flowers. He wanted to help, but everybody shooed him away in fear he’d get in their way. It didn’t damp his enthusiasm – he understood that their reactions were perfectly reasonable. Thus, the child went on an adventure to find something he could actually do to help.

He saw his mother near the garage talking to a terrified man with a very harsh tone and angry expression. Quietly listening and piecing things together, he made a good guess that the stranger might buy some wrong kinds of materials for the party and had to face his mother’s wrath as a consequence.

“Ma’am, I’m so sorry. I’ll go back to the supermarket to buy it again now!”

“No need. It’s faster if I do it myself. Submit your resignation tomorrow.” – Kisa’s cold voice rang through the garage as she wasted no time to pass the poor man to her car.

Fushimi immediately jumped in.

“Wait! Can I go with you? I’ll help you choose and carry things!”

Kisa glanced at him for a second, then went back to preparing her car. Fushimi took the silence as his cue to snuggle in the back seat. He was a little thrilled, for he’d never come to a supermarket.

The ride was not practically enjoyable – being close to his mother never was. A sort of chilling atmosphere always surrounded her like a mysterious mist, making other people involuntarily twitched in uneasiness. Her existence, in Fushimi’s young mind, was similar to an expensive doll placed in a high glass case - arrogant, indifferent, and out of reach. 

It took only fifteen minutes to reach the supermarket. “Out. Do what you want but don’t  bother me while I’m working”, Kisa hastily said as soon as she parked her car. Her efficient movements were so fast that Fushimi struggled to keep up, not wanting to be trapped in the car.

The lad’s intention to help his mother was thrown out the window just five minutes into the shopping. Kisa kept walking, ordering, taking this and that at amazing speed. Fushimi tried his best to bring her what she needed, but small hands and feet could only do so much until they gave up from exhaustion. During a particular attempt at holding too many items at once, he fell down, dropping everything on the ground. After tremblingly standing up, he leaned against the wall for support and closed his eyes for a minute.

His mother never slowed down.

As soon as Fushimi reopened his eyes, he realized that he was all alone in that huge, crowded supermarket. His heart skipped a beat, then thumped right back too fast and too loud. All of a sudden, everything seemed to move so rapidly and the noises became thunders in his ears. The little boy felt like he was standing at the edge of a cliff where horridly strong winds blew at him  nonstop. It was as if one wrong breath was all it took for him to fall into the blackness.

Still, he bit his lips and fought the urge to scream and cry. Because obviously a noisy child was a bad child, and a bad child was better left alone until he decided to be good.

“I stopped. It’s my fault. If I wait here obediently, she’ll come back to get me. That’s right.”,  He mumbled while slowly sat down and curled himself into a protective ball, “It’s okay. I’m okay. It’s just a supermarket. Maybe they’ll call.”

Fushimi waited quietly, counting numbers in his head. One, two, three. He waited, and waited, and waited, and kept waiting. Strangers passed by him, some stared curiously, some glanced worriedly, but no one stopped to ask. Nine, ten, eleven. It must look like he was playing a strange game of hide and seek.  And so he counted, and counted,  and counted, and kept counting. One hundred, one hundred and one, one hundred and two. Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.

It wasn’t until he hit nine thousand nine hundred and ninety nine that he finally, finally understood that no one would come.

There was no seeker in the first place.

Forcing himself to stand up with numbed legs, the stray boy mentally drew a map from where he was to his house. He regretted being too excited to pay properly attention to the unfamiliar roads – he should never assume he would get a ride back naturally. Wasn’t it  inevitable that he must know how to do everything by himself? He had to when he grew up anyway, correct? 

Fushimi walked through the supermarket in a hurry, trying to be as close to the wall as possible. The clattery crowd was giving him a terrible headache. All of them were strangers. Big, frightening, boisterous outsiders – he had watched enough TV to know what strangers did with unaccompanied children. However, in these films, someone always came and saved them without fail. Even so, he would not let himself be captured, because no hero would show up for a bad child like him. As always. Of course.

“Mommyyyyy, I want this toy car!! Mommmmyyy, please, please, with cherries on top?”

Fushimi startled as an energetic boy yelled loudly and ran pass him. That kid had messed up hair, bright eyes and a happy smile, and he seemed to be the same age as Fushimi. His petite mother poked her son’s cheek, a gentle chuckle danced on her lips.

“Oh, but you have many toys already, right?”

“But I’m bored of them! I want a new one!!”

“Hey don’t say that, your old toys will get sad”, the woman held a small teddy bear up and moved its hands to cover its face. ”See, Teddy looks like he’s about to cry.”

“Eh! I’m sorry! Don’t be sad Teddy! I love you!”

“Hmm, okay, Teddy says he wants to play that new toy with you. Make sure to share it with him, okay?”

“Yes, yes! Teddy, you’re the best!” While his mother went to get the toy, the boy jumped two feet in the air and proceeded to dance with the teddy bear. He was too lost in excitement to notice Fushimi standing nearby, and accidentally crashed right into the lost child. Both of them fell down with a loud noise which instantly caught the mother’s attention.

“Are you alright?  Oh, I see you’re attempting to strike a friendship?”

Fushimi frowned. “No, he just bumped into me. Harsh.”

“I’m sorry! It was an accident...Don’t cry!”

“I’m not crying.”

Fushimi jerked away as a he felt cold wet sensation on his pale skin. The woman was wiping his cheek tenderly, and it hit him hard that yes, there were indeed tears falling down his face. When did he begin to cry? Why did he even cry?

“Don’t cry, little cute boy. Everything will be okay, I promise. Do you hurt anywhere?”

“No...” – It did hurt, but not anywhere on his body.

“Okay, can you stand? Here, have a candy. Sweetness will chase the pain away.” A red candy was put in his palm. To Fushimi, it looked like a ruby.

“....Thank you.”

The mother smiled soothingly at him, then turned to her son. “Come on dear, I’d bought everything on the list. Help me bring them home. Tonight we’ll have hot pot for dinner!”

Fushimi stared at the other two with a faraway look in his eyes for a few seconds.

“...Miss, I, will you...”

“Yes ?”

“Miss....Won’t you buy me?” If Fushimi noticed the broken tone of his own voice, he decided not to dwell on it.

A startled silence fell upon them as the gentlewoman perplexed to give him a suitable answer. Then she sighed and rubbed his head.

“Where’s your parents?”

That question came to him like a powerful punch. No, Fushimi thought, he didn’t know the right answer. He didn’t want to answer it. Why did she ask that? Where's his parents? That was what he want to know too. (Except not. He could care less where they were – after all, they never cared about his whereabouts anyway.)

“I...don’t know” – It was the only thing he managed to get out his burning throat.

“I see. You strayed from your parents, right? I’ll help you find them.”

“You can’t find them here.” Fushimi shook his head. Enough. He had had enough. He felt sick. The headache was coming back.

“Is that so? Do you remember where’s your house? I can drive you bac – ANDY, get down here! Do not ride the trolley!”

Fushimi visible flinched. Not because of her yell, but rather the reminder that this kind woman was another boy’s mother. He couldn’t take it anymore. Taking advantage of her distraction, the little boy broke into a run. He had to get away before she was able to ask that question again, before she reminded him that she was someone else’s mom again.

It took him almost an hour of walking to make it home. Even though every step pained him and his legs threatened to collapse any moment, he never stopped. His clothes were thoroughly wet with sweat as well as dirt, his hair was tousled, and his eyes was heavy with exhaustion.   

He met Kisa who was greeting her visitors at the front door. “You look like a mess. I thought you went back on your own ages ago. The party’s started for one hour. Go take a shower then dress nicely. I don’t want my guests to see Niki’s son in this terrible state.”

Too tired to respond, Fushimi limped up the stair in cold silence. Locking the door of his room, he let himself fall down to the ground.

His house’s first floor looked nice tonight. The lights were bright. Flawless crimson carpets coated the paths. Beautiful flowers flaunted themselves everywhere. Downstairs, guests kept coming and talking and eating and drinking and dancing and cheering happy birthday. Everything was perfect, except for the absent of the main character, which no one bothered to ask the host “Where’s the birthday boy?”

Still lying on the floor in his dark room, Fushimi held the ruby-like candy close to his chest and mumbled happy birthday to himself.

 

**2.**

Fushimi gawked at his spring semester’s first project as if it offended him personally. “Draw a picture of your family” and “Write an essay about your family”, it read. He decided right then that with this as a starter, his third year of elementary school was going to be so, so bad.

“I repeat, your drawing will be framed on the school’s wall and your essay will be read aloud at the upcoming parents meeting! I hope you all will do this project well. Especially you Fushimi, I look forward to seeing your masterpieces.” Yamamoto Sasaki, his homeroom teacher, cheerily said with a nod toward him. He ignored both her praises and the classmates’ spiteful glares.

Fushimi didn’t ask to be fawned upon by teachers. For him, schoolwork was as easy and boring as drinking a glass of water, so he failed to understand why teachers saw a genius in the works he barely put effort in. They called his drawing “arts” along with everything he did “masterpieces” - what a dumb sense of aesthetic, really, he thought adults were better than that. 

He didn’t ask to be envied by his classmates, either. Though envy might not be the right word, it would be more correct to say he intimidated them. The dark-haired boy had terrific intelligence which in itself was scary for average kids, and piercing eyes that seemed like they could cut into the souls of others.

“So, if you have any difficulty, don’t hesitate to ask me!” – Yamamoto ended the classes with a final announcement. She watched with amusement as her students only waited for that signal to pour out of the door. However, her eyes widened in shock when she saw her excellent student, Fushimi, still sitting quietly in his seat, eyes fixed on the note.

“Is there something wrong, Fushimi?”

He bit his lips for a good ten seconds before opening his mouth. “Teacher, I have two questions.”

“Oh, what are they? It’s rare for you to ask questions about schoolwork!”

Fushimi clicked his tongue. “I don’t feel like doing this project. Can I get another topic, teacher?”

“I’m afraid you can’t. The family project is an important part of this semester’s schedule, and it makes up 25 percent of your total grade. Fushimi...you don’t like the topic?” The young teacher tensed. Was this the infamous “helping the troubled student” situation that she had learnt in college?

“The second question: must them be showed?”

“To public? Well, it’s not necessary, you can choose not to sh-“

“No, to the parents, I meant.” Fushimi cut his teacher off, then averted his eyes upon realizing his disrespect.

“Normally you ought to, but if you don’t want to, I’ll grade them and give it back to you, not saving them for the parents meeting.” Yamamoto carefully answered, knowing that family tragedy was a mime field topic.

“I see. Thank you, teacher.” Fushimi nodded lightly and walked out, satisfied with her reply.

Yamamoto checked her favorite student’s profile to see what problem he might have. To her surprise, nothing seemed out of order. Neither of Fushimi’s parents was dead, they were not divorced, and his family’s financial condition was great. She could tell Fushimi received no physical abuse – she saw no scars on his body during PE swimming class. She wondered what exactly his family did to the brilliant boy.

The answer made it appearance as an incredibly disturbing drawing and an absurdly unsettling essay.

“What...is this, Fushimi?” Yamamoto just couldn’t believe her eyes. She took a deep breath, trying to get the courage to look at the drawing again.

In the middle of the paper was a thin boy in school uniform with long bang partly covered his glasses – Fushimi himself - with numerous dots in different sizes spreading under his feet. The left side of the boy was completely blank, saved for a tiny dot at the top corner, like an accidental touch of a pencil’s tip point.  And the right side...was smeared all over in dirty dense black, almost as if he’d grinded charcoal on it in anger. At the center of the pitch jet mess, a pair of giant rugged hands, which was in a ready position to cruelly grab something, could barely be made out. On top of the hands was a thin chalky crescent – a wicked smile, if one looked closely.

“I did it on the spur of the moment.” Fushimi avoided his teacher’s eyes, preferring to bore into a yellow spot on the classroom’s ground.

“Is this how you view your family?”

No response. The silence thickened, almost suffocating.

“Can I do something for you, Fushimi? I’ll help you go through this with your family, okay?”

Fushimi slowly looked up. In a brief moment, a wistful expression showed itself in his azure eyes.

“What do you think you can do?”

 “For starter, I’ll arrange a meeting with your family to talk things out.”

“That’s impossible. No one will come.” The boy gritted his teeth, looking away again. Any sort of hopeful sign disappeared,  replaced by a frown.

 “Oh, why? Where’s your parents?”

The young prodigy spat out a laugh upon hearing the questions. His palms curved into tight fists and his lips trembled in an obvious effort of keeping calm. The aura around him screamed fear and sadness.

It felt like an eternity had passed until Fushimi crinkly responded as he stood up. “My answer for that is written in the essay.” Without saying anything else, he walked out of the classroom, ignoring his teacher’s startled call.

Yamamoto stood there dumbfounded for a moment, then hastily made her way to the paper piles on the teacher’s table. Papers and books fell everywhere during her rattling search, but she paid them no mind. Finally, she found her best student’s essay at the bottom of the second pile. Only it was not an essay at all.

There were merely ten words on the paper. “She is not really there. He is, but not really.”

The next day, Yamamoto took it upon herself to invite Fushimi’s parents to a private talk about their son’s abnormal project. The mother didn’t listen more than three sentences before curtly cut her off, saying she was busy and she had no interest in her son’s school matter. The father, Niki, didn’t accept at first, but for some reasons changed his mind when the teacher briefly describe Fushimi’s drawing. Even so, he refused to come to the school, demanding the teacher to meet him at a bar.

She expected him to be at least worry, guilty, shamed, any negative emotion would be appropriate in such situation. She had never been so wrong in her life.

“Oh boy, isn’t it the most beautiful piece of art? He drew me so well!” The man, who looked strikingly similar to her student, laughed cheerfully with a very childish expression. He held the drawing above his head and danced around the deserted bar. “Should I stick it on the fridge? Ah I know, I’ll hang it in the living room! Hey, tell me, what kind of frame suits it? Plain wood? Decorative metal? No, it should be something better, right?”

The sight was so unsettling that Yamamoto felt sick deep in her stomach.

Niki, the source of her current agony, abruptly turned around to face her with a crooked grin. “You seem to awfully care about my little monkey, huh? How should I thank you now?”

Yamamoto quivered uncontrollably as every cell in her body screamed danger. She could see it now, the dark shadow wrapping around this so-called father. In him lay clearly the innate seeds of wickedness, ruthlessness and harshness. An unsound conscience. A monster of insanity.

The teacher had no strength to talk about what Fushimi had written in his essay. She was unable to do anything. That guy had never listened a word from the start. Her only hope was that all he’d said was just a cruel joke. She told herself that no father would really display such a thing in his house, regardless of how crazy he was.

On the parents meeting day, true to Fushimi’s claim, neither Niki nor his wife came. Yamamoto sighed in relief, only to feel a powerful rush of guilt hit her right after. At the end of the day, Fushimi walked toward her with disgusted flares in his piercing eyes.

“The frame is made of gold and silver.” Each of his words came out like a painfully choked cough.  

A week later, Yamamoto resigned.

 

**3.**

The sun had completely set when Fushimi reached his home. It was the graduation day – he had finally gotten out of elementary school. The 11 year-old boy had no interest in the celebration whatsoever, so he sneaked out when the principal was giving an old boring speech about school’s traditions. He didn’t feel like coming home just yet, thus he decided to take a nap at the rooftop. By the time he woke up, the graduation ceremony had been way over.

Nobody was home – it had been two weeks and a half since the last time someone aside from him (and the maid, but she didn’t count) was there. Not that it mattered to him. Not really.

Fushimi threw himself on the soft mattress of his bed. He felt so tired even though he’d just slept for five hours straight. He was hungry as well, but went out to buy food sounded like a tough job at the moment. There was dinner the maid placed on the table, however he would rather go to hell than eat her cooking willingly. Who knew what she had put in that sorry excuse of barely edible food.  

All of a sudden, he heard a faint series of footsteps downstairs. The young boy startled in recognition that the sounds of these steps didn’t belong to anyone he knew.  A stranger had intruded his house. A thief, probably.

To be fair, his big house, mansion even, simply cried out to get robbed. Having a fancy appearance and locating on the surface of a busy road, but the doors were always unlocked, sure wasn’t the best way to keep security. He’d complained about it to his father when he was younger, and had received a mocking laugh along with a vague answer which he hadn’t really understood. 

The sounds were getting louder - the burglar was going to the second floor. Fushimi felt a rush of terror ran through his petite body as he scrambled to his feet with the intention to lock his room’s door. A confusing moment later, he realized that he never had the key – why bothered when all the doors always stayed open?

The closer the intruder got, the more frightened Fushimi became. He swiftly hid under his bed, trying to be as soundless as possible. Sweats began to drip due to the pressure he was under.

A minute passed until he heard the door opened together with the unfamiliar light steps of the burglar coming in. Trembling in the dark, the scared child closed his eyes and held his breath, wishing this would be over soon.

“This fancy lookin’ house hardly has anythin’ valuable at all...What’s a waste. The bed looks nice, tho.” – a low mumbled voice turned up right above Fushimi’s hidden location.

To his horror, the bed dipped considerably upon him, implying that the stranger had laid down on it. His heart pounded a hundred miles a minute so loudly that Fushimi feared the thief might hear it. Why was it happening to him? What had he done to deserve this? What should he do now?

The young boy lay flat down on the cold dirty floor, fingers digging into his sweaty palms in order to clear his thoughts. It’d be best to quietly wait for the intruder to go. However, the small space he chose to hide was murky and suffocating, he couldn’t bear to stay there for long – he might faint from oxygen deprivation. Calling police was out of question, for his phone was under the pillow that the intruder lay on. The idea of waiting for secures was kicked out of his head as soon as it popped in. He already knew better than that, no one would ever come. Heroes didn’t exist.

Luckily for the young boy, the thief’s breaths seemed to relax and slowed down bit by bit. He was going to fall asleep.  

A long painful torment of thirty minutes passed, finally Fushimi decided it was safe to crawl out. He made his way to the door in absolute silence, glancing cautiously back at the figure on the bed. No light was on, but his eyes were used to the darkness. He could tell the intruder was a young man, no more than 25, and had a firm body.

Fushimi carefully opened the door, but to his bafflement, a loud clinking noise shot through the air – there was a knife trapped between the door and the doorframe. The next second, the startled boy found himself crashed to the ground by a strong force. His throat met a cold feeling of metal against skin. Intense golden eyes bored right into his skull.

“Oh...just a little brat. Got me there a second.” The attacker snickered, withdrawing his dagger. “Home alone?”

The dark blue haired boy nodded slowly. He was shaken to the core inside, though his face didn’t betray anything. Showing weakness to the enemy was stupid, he knew that at least, being 11-year-old or not. 

“Mind pointin’ me some good stuff out? Ya parents sure are trickie ones. The name’s Tamara, by the way.” Tamara smirked, not in the malicious way Niki usually did, but more of a playful way. For some reasons, it calmed Fushimi down a tiny little bit.

Taking a deep breath and forcing his face to be expressionless, the young child talked with a  calculating bored tone. “Fine. There’s good silver in the left bottom drawer in the kitchen. Third room, this floor, inside the wardrobe there’re some ornaments. You can find a china cabinet down the hall, first room to the right. Take them and close the door when you leave, then.” 

Tamara stared at him for good ten seconds, then whistled. “Strange kid, ain’t ya? Normal ones should be scared shitless right now.”

Fushimi was scared, alright. However, he kept his mouth shut, still too tense to respond, and glared straight into Tamara’s golden eyes. His reaction made him look like an incredibly brave boy on the surface, somehow. The criminal was certainly impressed.

“So, why home alone this late, little brat? Where’s ya family?”

And it was all it took to break Fushimi’s tough facade down.

Water began to gather in his glacial eyes, but he refused to let them drop. The poor boy’s shoulders shuddered violently as he choked on his answer.

“Not here.”

The next thing he knew, he was hugged lightly by the thief. As strange as it was, Fushimi felt warmer than he had ever before. He sighed and allowed himself to fall into the embrace.

Neither of them said anything. The silence was oddly comfortable, until the young boy’s stomach interrupted it with a soft noise.

“Hungry, kid?”

 “....No”

“Bullshit. It’s past 9 p.m and ya haven’t grabbed a bite?”

Fushimi clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Aren’t you here to steal stuff? Go take them so you can leave already!”

“That can wait.” Tamara suddenly grabbed the boy’s nape and threw him over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes. “I have a weird kid to feed.”

“I’m not weird! I don’t need to be fed! For the record, you’re the weird one, pretentious intruder!”

It was a miracle that the odd pair made it into the kitchen without major injury, given the struggles Fushimi put up. Tamara poked at the maid’s cold dishes on the table with a disgusted scowl, then tossed them all in the trash bin. The boy was so glad that someone finally agreed with him on this matter.

“Take-outs and cokes, all the trashes! Hell,  ya live solely on junk food or what, brat?”

“Tsk, what if I do? It’s not even your business.”

“Man, ya need proper meals. No wonder ya as thin as paper. Sit down, I’ll make some real food out of this goddamn mess.”

“What sort ofburglar are you, taking care of the house’s owner?” Fushimi muttered.

“A decent human bein’, that’s what. Now shut up.”

What an unbelievable turn of events, Fushimi thought, watching Tamara cooked in bewilderment. He widened his eyes when the man skillfully used his combat knife to cut the meat.

“Why don’t you use the kitchen knife like a normal person?”

“I like my baby better. Shut up, I can’t focus.“

“Do you have a knife fetish or something?”

“Aren’t you too youn’ to know what fetish is?”

“But do you?”

“Yeah. Just shut up.”

“Don’t put vegetables in. I don’t like them.”

“Show respect to farmers, brat. And shut up.”

“Tsk, I don’t care. I won’t eat it.”

“Force them down your throat, I will. Can’t you shut up?”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Fight me, weird kid.”

They bickered back and forth throughout the cooking process, regardless of how many times the man told Fushimi to shut up. To be fair, he did reply every single sentence. It was abnormal for Fushimi to talk so much with a stranger, to eat food made by someone he barely met, a thief at that. But it was a good kind of strange.

It had been a long time since the boy ate a fresh hot meal. The food was good. Even when Tamara, being a man true to his words, actually thrust vegetables down Fushimi’s throat, it was the best dinner he had ever had so far. Something sneered at him, telling him “wasn’t it good that finally someone bothered enough to force him to eat greens?”, but he buried it deep in his mind before the words made sense.

After dinner, the thief showed him some amazing knife tricks, bragging about him being the best hidden weapons user out there. “I’ll infect my knife fetish on ya, little brat. It’d be helpful, bein’ outlaw of not.”, he said.

“Why did you become a thief?”

“Reasons. Abandonment. Poorness. Danger. I’ll do everythin’, just for survival.”

Silence fell upon them for a long time, until Tamara broke it by a quiet whisper. “I saw a strange drawin’ in the livin’ room, gold and silver frame and all that jazz.”

“That was...” The boy stunned, unable to say anything.

Then Tamara asked, with soft and gentle voice. “Why is ya house so empty, and doors unlocked?”

“They used to say that it’s no need to lock the door. They don’t place anything here that they’d care about being stolen anyway.” Fushimi mumbled out.

He glanced up when a large rough hand placed onto his head, only to meet with sorrowful golden eyes.

“But aren’t you here?”

“...I am, yes.” At last, Fushimi let his tears drop, slowly, silently, like an early autumn rain.

He cried until he passed out from exhaustion. Before he fell into the blackness, he heard a low, soft voice hummed an unfamiliar lullaby. He felt warm, being embraced, so everything was okay.

When the boy woke up in his bed, Tamara was nowhere to be found. On his table, a shiny object caught his eyes – a throwing knife, which was pinning a piece of paper down.

It read _“Kid. Eat your vegetables. Learn to use knives. Be strong.”_

Three days later, the maid eventually noticed things were missing and called the police. They came, asking everyone various questions. Fushimi informed them that he had been home that day, yes, but had hidden in room the whole time, so he didn’t know anything. Later, he smiled when he noticed that the gold and silver framed drawing in the living room was also on the stolen things list.

Kisa was clear irritated because apparently, she has places to be and clients to meet. “I said it’s fine already. We just don’t place anything there that would be a great loss if it’d be stolen. Now, if you excuse me, I’m busy.” – The woman curtly said in exasperation, walking out before anyone could hold her back.

On Niki’s end, he found the whole situation hilarious, and laughed until he was threatened to be arrest for being horribly uncooperative.

Fushimi quietly watched the scene from afar while playing with Tamara’s gift. He agreed, the stolen items had no value, neither did everything else in this house. The only valuable thing to him now was the sharp knife in his hand.

 

**4.**

Yata insisted they went to his house afterschool, and while it was such a pain Fushimi couldn’t help but agree. He didn’t have it in him to refuse Yata’s invitation when his only friend looked like an excited over-sized puppy at the idea of him visiting for the first time.

It was not his intention to be caught in the rain while walking to Yata’s place together, though. The downpour was so sudden that both the boys had soaked to their bones before they found any shelter. Yata decided right then that damn it, if they were wet already they might as well continue to run and play in the rain.

When they got close to Yata’s house, Fushimi slowed down in hesitation. He genuinely didn’t know how to act in front of the redhead’s parents and siblings. How did family gathering work, in the first place? He was slightly afraid. For all he knew, Yata’s mother might hate him from the first glance, or Yata’s step father might make fun of his boring appearance. Then again, it didn’t really matter to him, as long as they wouldn’t prevent Yata from seeing him.

“What are you waiting for, Saruhiko?! Come on!” The shorter boy pulled his wrist, successfully yanked Fushimi out of his thoughts. They had reached their destination.

Yata’s mom greeted them at the door and welcomed Fushimi with a bright smile, making him feel dumbstruck for a second. He had no idea how to handle being greeted with a smile, so he made an awkward show of nodding slightly and adverting his eyes.

“You two are as wet as drowned rats! Go take a shower right now or you’ll catch a cold!” The mom scolded them. It was an unfamiliar sight to Fushimi, again.

“I’m fine...I don’t have spare clothes.” He reluctantly said, unsure of what he tried to archive. He knew that dripping water all over his friend’s house was not a valid option, but still.

“Saruhiko-kun, right? It’s okay, Misaki’ll lend you some clothes, he does have some baggy ones, they may fit you. I’ll prepare you some of my husband’s shirts in case Misaki’s don’t.”

With that settled, he was tossed into the bathroom along with Yata. Normally he would never agree to share a shower with someone else, but he was cold, and to be honest he didn’t really mind being with Yata that much. Being naked together in a shower or whatever.  

As it turned out, the shorter boy’s baggy clothes fit Fushimi perfectly. The shirt was comfy and soft to the touch, it also had a nice faint smell of soap. The bluet wondered how on earth someone put that much care in a piece of clothes. It should be comfortable, but somehow this whole deal set he on edge a little bit.

Yata’s siblings instantly attached to him, much to his surprise and annoyance. The younger boy Minoru kept asking him various things which he answered flawlessly correct On the other hand, the little baby Megumi consistently crawled into his laps no matter how many times he put her down. They were troublesome, yet in the end Fushimi couldn’t help but let them do whatever they want. It was nice to get the sense that he was needed for once.

“They love you, Saruhiko, haha.”

“Shut up, Misaki.”

“Hey, I told you to not call me by my first name!”

Fushimi clicked his tongue and looked around the house. It was much more smaller than his own, but considerably brighter and warmer. Open windows took in lights and winds. Recycled table fans, lamps and garnitures were placed here and there. On the wall pasted children’s colorful drawings of flowers, cats, cars and robots, which briefly recalled him of a haunting dark and white drawing in gold and silver frame used to be in his own living room. There were also many personal things lying around - sport magazines, family albums, toys, cooking books - so different, so strange. Being in this house made Fushimi wondered if his own house looked like an abandoned mansion to Yata.

“It’s still raining heavily. I heard there’s a storm coming today.” Yata’s stepfather walked in the room, informing him with a small smile. “Saruhiko-kun, you should join us for dinner, even stay overnight if the storm does come.”

Fushimi immediately tensed up at the presence of the man. His grip on Megumi tightened a bit without his awareness, making the baby yelp. He instantly let go of her in panic, unsure of what to do. Fortunately, she didn’t cry and snuggled at him again as if nothing had happened. Yata and his stepfather took it as one of Megumi’s usual childish behaviors, paying it no mind.  

“Thank you...mister.” the boy mumbled, swallowing the terrible feeling of uneasiness down his throat. “I appreciate your kindness.” This man was Yata’s stepfather – no dark shadow lurked around him - he was not Niki – everything was fine, the mantra repeated itself in Fushimi’s mind like a broken record.

“What’s a polite kid! You should be more like him, Misaki.” Yata’s mother joined them, dishes in hands.

“Don’t let his meek appearance fool you! He’s ten times more rude and stubborn than me, I swear!” Yata childishly pointed his index finger to the guest.

“Yes, yes, whatever you say sweetie.”

“Believe me!”

Fushimi smirked. “You tried, Yata.”

“See, mom? He is being annoying right now.”

“Is that so?  By the way, dinner is ready, come eat.”

“Argh, just listen to me!”

The food was delicious, like the last meal before one going to heaven. They reminded him of Tamara’s dishes – fresh, hot, tasty, made for his sake only, came from kindness and care.

Fushimi found it hard to breathe during the dinner. He had never felt fuller. Everything was so just full. Full of light and warmth. Full of noises and aromas. Full of joy and love. The fullness was almost unbearable. The boy thought he might explode at any moment from the foreign feeling. He had to bite his inner cheeks the whole time in order to keep himself believing he wasn’t imagining things up.

“So this is how it should be like, huh...” He muttered to himself.

“What should be like what, Saruhiko-kun?” Yata’s mother asked, making Fushimi jumped out of his skin. For her to hear his muttering, Yata really didn’t lie about her keen hearing.

“Eh, this is how...curry should taste like? I mean, I’ve never had curry before.” He must pat himself on the back for that trustable lie. It worked well enough.

“Is that so? Is it to your liking?”

It was. So he nodded slightly and asked Yata for a second, which shocked the redhead.

“I’ve never seen you eat that much! Normally you never take more than three bites or so!”

“Tsk. Don’t scream in my ears. I’m just hungry today.”

“Whatever. It’s my mom’s magic, isn’t it? Mom, please try making him eat vegetables!”

“What? No!”

The charming woman of the house narrowed her eyes, like a predator watching its prey. From that moment on, she set “making Fushimi eat vegetables” her life mission.

She succeeded with flying colors. Fushimi wondered how she could even do it without violence like Tamara used to.

When dinner was over, the boys went to the living room to play a shooting videogame. Minoru excitedly sat on the his older brother’s laps, watching the game going on with chatty attitude. Fushimi kept losing, which clearly reflected how restless he was. At some points, Yata had to check his forehead to make sure the visitor didn’t get a cold.

“It’s still raining heavily, the storm may come soon. Saruhiko-kun, how about I give your parents a call to inform them you’ll stay here tonight?” Yata’s stepfather told them from the couch he was sitting on a few feet away.

“It’s fine. There’s no need to call them, mister.” The bluet did his usual tongue click, realizing that the voice he let out was harsher than he had intended to.

“Even when you say so, a proper call is much needed. They’ll be worried at home.”

“They’re not in the house.”

The man raised an eyebrow higher. “Oh? Where’re they? Are they on a business trip?”

Fushimi’s character died right at that moment. Be shot in the head. Blood stained the screen.

He took a deep breath and slowly placed his game controller down. If he had been kind of on edge before, now he felt like he was standing so close to the mouth of a cliff. One more push and me might fall down to the depths. Suddenly everything in Yata’s house became too much. The lights hurt his vision. The noises stabbed through his ears. The warmth burnt his flesh.   

“Are you okay, Saruhiko? Do you feel unwell?” Yata touched the other boy’s damp hair slightly, worry evidenced in his voice.  

Fushimi shook his head, then forced himself to face Yata’s father.

“It doesn’t matter.”

The middle-aged man seemed like he wanted to say something, but Yata signaled him to stop. The redhead pushed Minoru out of his laps and took a firm hold of Fushimi’s wrist, pulling him up the stair.

“Let go to bed early today. I don’t want you to get sick for real.”

The taller boy blinked owlishly. Yata had always been a little insensitive – the result of his horrible ability to read the atmosphere, but sometimes he still managed to hit the target point blank. Like right now.

“Congratulation. 100 points to Misaki.”

“The hell are you saying? Don’t tell me you’re being delirious. .Argh, stop with the first name already!”

“Ahhh...But your name is beautiful.”

“Oh. My. Fucking. God. Delirium, it is. Mom, where’s our medicine box? I’ve got a serious case here!”

Fushimi chuckled. He was brought back to the ground again by Yata’s magic. The redhead didn’t even aware his own heroic deed. It’d be better that way, though.

But he hadn’t been saved just yet.

The young boy had a nightmare that night. He dreamt about blank space and charcoal shadows, doll in high glass case and thin crescent in pitch-black sky, cold voice and mocking laugh. In the slumber, he tried to run away, as fast as his thin legs were capable of, not wanting to be caught against his will. Fire licked at his bare feet, burning him with unbearable heat. He felt that his leaving this place would be impossible, far beyond his force.

“Over here, Saruhiko!” A tiny light hovered in front of his eyes, telling Fushimi to chase after it. He recognized the sound. It was Yata’s cheerful, lovely voice calling him through the darkness.  So he rushed toward it with renewed strength and hope.

“Yatai!” He could see the redhead now, the dear boy he treasured so much. Yata was standing in front of him with a bright smile and open hands. He charged right in to the waiting embrace, clinging to the shorter boy in desperation. The flame consumed him completely, however it didn’t hurt anymore -  it was Yata’s gentle flame of protection and passion. “Misaki...”

“It’s fine, I’m here, Saruhiko.”

Yata was the only one who kept pushing into his territory and breaking down his firm walls. Yata was the only person who stayed, the only one to look at him like he was important. Being with Yata, who pulled his hands and still hadn’t let go, he would like to stay like that forever.   

“Saruhiko-kun, it’s alright now, we can be your family.”

Fushimi jerked upward. Behind Yata was his family. They were all smiling at Fushimi – the charming mother, the caring father, the two noisy but loveable younger siblings. Warmth light radiated around them like a halo. Open palms turned upward to him invitingly, and Fushimi was so, so temped to reach out. Even though the light was blinding and the heat was scorching, he craved this from the bottom of his heart.

He walked forward one step, two steps, three steps, so close to the happy family, right hand raised hesitantly. But something was still wrong, something was missing. He looked back over his shoulder, trying to figure out what he had overlooked.

Yata still stood right where he had left him. The petite boy’s shoulders slouched down, his eyes were full of sorrow and hurt. He looked at Fushimi accusingly, like how one looked at a burglar, as his fire slowly died down, consumed by the oncoming dark shadows.

“No, Misaki!” Fushimi ran back in absolute terror. How could he do it? How could he even think of stealing his precious friend’s family? You should be more like him, Misaki – he remembered Yata’s mother saying. Then he recalled that Yata used to say he didn’t feel belong to his family. Oh god, this was so cruel. This was not what he wished for. He never wanted to abandon Yata, never wanted to replace Yata, never wanted Yata to be alone.

He should know better - not to be greedy, never hold many things at the same time - hadn’t he learnt this lesson already way back then? If he tried to take more than he deserved, everything would drop, and he would be left alone again. He knew his place now. He could ever have one thing at once – no, even one precious thing was terribly too much. So, he had to do anything, at all cost, just to keep it safe in his arms.

Fushimi finally reached Yata and hugged him tight to his chest. Instantly, the ground below them broke down, leaving them to fall into the bottomless abyss. Air knocked out of Fushimi’s lungs as he tried to scream helplessly. Even so, his grip on Yata didn’t ease one tiny little bit.

A loud thunder yanked Fushimi out of his nightmare. He found himself not lying on the bed but writhing on the floor, sweats wetting his entire body, shivering out of coldness, out of fear. His numb heart was full of sad and foolish self-pity.

The storm roared outside. Cold winds blew fiercely from the window’s cracks. Rain poured down on the pavement. The humidity in the room condensed.

Yata was sleeping peacefully, a small smile on his angelic face.

Sighing in relief, Fushimi got onto the bed again, then carefully hugged the shorter boy close. It was fine, just like this. Yata was his world, his everything. Family didn’t matter, anyway.

 

**5.**

Homra’s bar was noisy. Way too noisy, it made his mind ring like a broken alarm. Fushimi smacked his tongue against his teeth with more force than necessary, which hurt him in the process but didn’t stop him from repeating the action. The gloomy boy nursed his own glass of water, all the while watching Yata laughing and running around like an idiot.  

The red clan had a mission earlier that day. The quest was simple enough, mostly including beating a gang up and prying underground information from them. It was not until two powerful strains suddenly broke in to rescue their partners in crime that things got dangerous. As usual, Homra spilt into two groups, one to protect Anna and Totsuka as well as watch over the hostages, and the other to attack the strains.

Yata was extremely pumped up. The redhead recklessly charged headfirst into the fight, relying on his pure power to overwhelm his opponents. Fushimi, who led the standby group, observed with obvious irritation. He didn’t like the way Yata fight now – too careless and overly trusting, as if he was certain his back would always be covered perfectly.

Except it was not.

The strains attacked Yata at the same time from two directions, plainly intending to take the strongest one down first. Yata successfully blocked the hit meant for him, but Kamamoto was tricked by the second one. The vanguard looked back when a loud “Yata-san” was yelled out, but it was too late to dodge.

“Stupid Misaki!” 

A red aura-glowed throwing knife cut through the air right pass the redhead, effectively pierced painfully into the wrist of the sneaky attacker.

“Thank, Saru!”

Even with Fushimi’s help, Yata still got a light wound on his right shoulder. Fushimi bit his lips hard, furious at both Yata and himself, but chose to drop the matter for now. Wasting no time, he started to map out a plan to solve the situation.

“Anna, pry information from their heads right now. You two protect her. Totsuka-san, please distract the strains with your flame butterflies for three seconds. Yata! Drive them to the left!” He took lead of the case easily, already on the run. Sometimes he wondered if he and Kusanagi were the only brains Homra had.

“Don’t order me around!” Yata did as he was told, nevertheless.

Whatever Fushimi intended to do, he wasn’t going to accomplish it. As the bluet drew out a dagger to start his plan, his vision was suddenly filled with red. An intense fire storm came crashing down on the strains, knocking them out in only two seconds. Everyone stood still in awe.

“Ahh...Kusanagi thought you guys took too long to come back...” The red king’s lazy voice was heard clearly even through the remaining fire.

“Mikoto - san!” The gang cheered at once, except for Fushimi, who just grit his teeth and walked out of scene. He didn’t miss the way Yata all but bounced to Mikoto with sparkle eyes and bright smile, though.

That was the reason for the celebration in the bar. To be that excited over a stupid victory, how pathetic that was, Fushimi scowled. He himself felt no positive emotion at all – or maybe it was just him being different from the rest of them. He didn’t even try to fit in, he wouldn’t feel right here no matter what. No surprise, though. He was always the odd one somehow.

Homra’s family pretending game was stupid anyway. It was so like Totsuka to just pop out an idea of gathering thugs and punks into a big mess of family-like bonds. As if a bunch of hot-headed strangers could ever become something great. “Family” wasn’t even a good thing to begin with. 

Suddenly, Fushimi felt something tugged at the back of his shirt. He looked down to find Anna handing him a piece of cake. The little girl stared at him with profound eyes, as if she was digging deep into his soul. It was uncomfortable to keep eyes contact with her, so Fushimi averted his eyes.

“I don’t want it.”

“It’s sweet. You always like a little sweetness.” Anna tried again, her voice was barely louder than a whisper. She didn’t try to persuade him or step closer to him, because the young strain knew he would only withdraw further.

“I don’t. Why do you think that?”

“I can see a pretty little red candy.” Her doll-like face lit up a little as the Homra’s princess gave Fushimi a small smile. Anna placed the cake on the table in front of the older boy, then ran back to Mikoto’s side.

Fushimi gawked at the cake like it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever seen. Exhaling a long sigh, he picked a fork and took a tiny bite, then immediately crinkled – sweet, way too sweet, it hurt his throat and numb his teeth. How funny, because wasn’t sweetness supposed to chase the pain away?

The rest of the cake was left untouched.

Ten minutes later, Totsuka came and sat on the chair next to Fushimi.

“Why the long face, Fushimi? Today we got our hands on a very important clue, you should be happy!” He offered him a glass of wine, which the boy glared at with a clear you-know-I’m-underage meaning.

“It’s a stupid reason to celebrate. And I didn’t do anything worth it.”

“But you did a really good job, i think? If King didn’t come you’d still handle it well!”

“Mikoto - san can do anything, huh.” Fushimi bitterly remarked. He glanced at Yata one more, only to find the redhead showing off the scar on his shoulder to the king like it was some kind of prizes. His irritation grew greater each passing second.

Totsuka smiled his all-knowing smile that the dark haired boy hated to the core. Totsuka had this power – to appear all innocent and harmless but actually see through anyone’s soul.

“No one can do anything, even the King. Fushimi, there is something you can’t do, but there are always things you can. You don’t know until you choose to do it.”

The teenager narrowed his eyes at Totsuka. He felt cornered, like a weak baby deer under a gun’s barrel. It was so suffocating that he wanted to scream out loud, just to check if he really had enough air in his lungs.

“Annoying...I hate this side of you the most.”

The blonde man hadn’t nearly finished his pushy playing, much to Fushimi’s depression.

“Homra is like a bright fire that attaches lost souls. People come to us either to find a place to belong, or to have something to protect.” Totsuka placed the wine glass in front of the young clansman and winked. “However, if someone don’t want to be chained by things like that, it’s fine too.”

Fushimi snorted, drank the alcohol in one gulp, and walked out without any words. Even so, he stopped at the door for a minute to see if Yata noticed him going. The vanguard didn’t, having his back toward Fushimi. He was busy talking to Mikoto with vigor, too. Literally everyone in the bar noticed the knife user lingering at the door, except for the one he wanted to be noticed by. What a joke, Fushimi stomped away, what a goddamn humorless joke.

A place to belong? As if he needed that. It was not like he had ever had a place to belong to. No one would care and no one would come. The world didn’t want him – a cold empty house, a lost child at the supermarket, a broken promise of help, a never come back thief, a family not of his, a crowd too red for his liking - he was so very tired of waiting and hoping. He didn’t want it anymore. He had never belonged anywhere, and he doubt he would never be.

But he knew, on that stormy night, he knew that he had belonged somewhere. He belonged to the space around a certain energetic, wild, but caring idiot. In that small world, he was needed. It was the world he desired and cherished – something he would sacrifice himself to protect.

It was so ironic that the reason he had joined Homra with Yata was the very one that shoved him away from the boy he treasured. He had been attached to the Homra’s fire at first, just as Totsuka said, for him to “have something to protect”, alright. What he hadn’t known back then was that the thing he had tried so hard to protect would be crumbled so easily by the magnificent fire of his king.

Suoh Mikoto’s fire was out of this world, literally, what even were Kings’ powers? That man’s absurd strength brought fear upon his enemies and pride to his clansmen, which was quite a sting for Fushimi, because he was aware that he was afraid of Mikoto. Even though Mikoto hardly cared about him, Fushimi’s body involuntary tensed whenever he was near the red king, and he hated it. It felt a tad too much like being looked down from above by an overwhelmingly superior force, recalling him of lurid shadows and large rugged hands ready to crush something.

Even more ironic, Yata was the one who poured gasoline into the fire, by fitting right in Homra and keeping his head up with pride, while Fushimi had to pathetically struggle just to breathe there. It was not the redhead’s intention, of course. In the end, it was only Fushimi who brought everything upon himself. Even so...even so....

“Ohhhhh, see what you’ve got here? A brat from Homra!” Fushimi looked up from the pavement to find himself be confronted by a bunch of thugs. It seemed like he had been wandering unintentionally into a dangerous area, being too deep in his thoughts.

“I’m in no mood to fight, so let me go through.” He sighed. He had enough stupid events for a day already.

“Aw don’t be like that, let’s have a night chat! Ain’t the weather great? It’s going to rain so hard that your clan can’t find your body, haha!”

Fushimi scowled, he was seriously getting pissed off.

“Say, little brat, where’s you precious Homra family ~?”

That was the trigger the punks wished they had never pushed.

A sharp blade came straight to the guts of the man nearest to Fushimi, deep to the hill, skillful enough to leave its victim barely alive. Fushimi held out a combat knife in right hand and three throwing knives in left hand. Red power poured out of the furious boy like the foot of a waterfall. A twisted smirk forced its way onto his face, and a cruel gleam climbed into his icy blue eyes.

“Can’t you see that I’m alone?”

Knives cut flesh and blood was spilled. Tamara’s precious knife was tainted. And Fushimi let himself be drown in the red he despised, as his world burnt to the ground.

The rain did come down heavily. A flash of memory of a similar stormy night jumped over his mind, which made him yearn for a warm familiar body to embrace. Fushimi limped across the roads, thankful for the rain to wash away the sickening smell of blood. Be strong, Tamara had said, was this really the kind of strength the thief wanted him to possess?

His wounds hurt and his legs ached all over, but he kept walking. To where, he didn’t know. He just had the feeling that if he didn’t walk, he might get caught out. Or be late. But late for what, he wasn’t even sure.

After wandering for a while, he looked up from the pavement to see where he was. For some reasons, his feet had unintentionally brought him to the Scepter 4 headquarter.

“This is these blue guys’ place, huh.” He muttered to himself. His voice sounded faraway and mudded, like a scream came from underwater.

He heard the blue clan had a new king. An impressive intellectual man, they said. It’d be nice to encounter him someday. After all, at this rate, leaving Homra was inevitable.

But then there was a certain beloved boy Fushimi couldn’t just leave behind.

“I wonder if I can make Misaki give me one last smile...until it’s eventually time to...leave.”

For the time being, Fushimi chose to walk back to his apartment in the downpour. Misaki might already come back.

( _“Nonsense”_ , something was nagging at the back of his mind, “It’s you who can’t bear to be left behind”. Fushimi bit his tongue and instantly shoved the voice deep, deep down, before he managed to understand its meaning.)

 

**6.**

Fushimi was seriously in a crisis.

Munakata once again decided on a whim that Scepter 4 special force was going to have a “new year party” (read: forced awkward team bonding experience). Even though the whole unit paled at once like the end of the world was coming, at least they agreed that they were all in this sinking ship together.

Fushimi was about to sneak back to his room when Akiyama caught him. Contrary to popular belief, Akiyama could be the master of passive aggressive when the man wanted to.

“Please attend Scepter 4’s new year party tomorrow, Fushimi - san.”

“Tsk, I’m not going.”

“The Lieutenant  specifically says it’s an order.”

“I’ll use my extra sick leave.”

“As I recall, sick leave requires the Captain’s signature. I doubt that he will believe that excuse, Fushimi – san.”

“I’ll stab myself if I have to.”

“You do realize that it will only result in a worse situation in which the Captain sends five doctors after you and give you a 3-hour lecture on how to take care of yourself, right?”

“Tsk...Ahhh, fine, just to get it over with.”

As expected, Munakata’s sense of party made all members in the special unit, with the exceptional of Awashima, wanted to bang their heads on the wall. The anko dishes that their Lieutenant offered them didn’t help one bit.

“My, it seems like I’m the winner again. Shall we change to another game?”

“No, no, please! I’ve had enough!”

“The night is still young, let play poker next!”

“Captain!”

They had played monopoly, Jenga, crosswords, seven bridges, and various types of card game for hours. Of course the Captain won all of them, he was just that merciless. Fushimi didn’t join, just ate and busied himself with his PDA, ignoring everything and wondering if it was okay to go home yet.

“Go home...huh”, the third-in-command’s fingers stopped on the screen, shocking at himself. It had been a long time since he had last called a convenient place to return “home”. Sure he had his dorm room in Scepter 4, but it was really stretching it to consider that small room resemble anything as a household.  

“You want to go home already, Fushimi – kun? Join us. If you win a match you can leave in happiness, right?” Munakata smiled at him. Again, his superior seemed to know exactly what the stubborn subordinate was thinking.

“No way. It’s pointless to play against someone who can see through everything.”

The blue king chuckled, then handled Fushimi five cards as if the young man had begged to play.

“No one can see everything, Fushimi-kun. Even I.”

A familiar chill ran across his neck, the kind he used to have when talking to Totsuka on a certain celebration night. He clicked his tongue then swept the cards, wanting nothing but to win and get out of the room.

Their poker game was, no exasperation, utterly terrifying. The rest of the special unit had to cram together in a corner with shivering shoulders. The temperature seemed to drop at least five degrees, and the atmosphere was so thick they could cut it with their sabers. 

Munakata wore his infamous unreadable smile the entire time. His violet eyes gleamed in a hawk-like manner, clearly showing his enjoyment as well as intimidation. On the other hand, Fushimi looked like an emotionless series murderer, with blue and red aura casually flickering around his body. Both of their perfect poker faces screamed absolute danger.

“This...this is not a card game! It’s a war showdown!!” Doumyouji quivered.

In the end, the blue king won again but only for a small gap, which was an incredible achievement in and of itself for Fushimi. It still made the young clansman irritated to no end, nevertheless. In one fluid motion, he let a knife drop out and spilt a random card on his hand that just happened to be the king of spade.

“Oops, my bad. It accidently dropped out of my sleeve”, he smirked, ignoring Awashima immediately yelled his name in a warning tone.

“I see. It must be a sign to end our card games.” The whole unit looked up with hope in eyes.

Munakata announced with an innocent smile “Alright, let’s play chess next.”

“Captain!!!” All the clansmen groaned. Hidaka and Doumyouji actually smashed their heads against the wall. Awashima nonchalantly pulled out a chess board from nowhere.

Fushimi was about to ditch everyone when he took a better look at the chess pieces. They were not black and white as normal ones, but red and blue. Furthermore, the pieces had a variant range of colors: one side ran from reddish pink to scarlet, and the other ran from celeste to royal blue.

The third-in-command curled his palms into tight fists, and silently made his way to sit next to his king, much to others’ surprise. Munakata gave him a taunting smile.

“You can’t play if you stay next to me.”

“...It’s fine. I’ll watch for now.”

Fushimi quietly observed the torture being pushed on his subordinates in the form of chess. He kept his face as expressionless as possible, which was a skill he took proud of. Yet he knew something must show, for no one dare to say anything, and most of his colleagues peeked at him every few minutes. He couldn’t bring himself to care, at any rate.

Red and blue in various shades danced on the board, trying to take each other’s king down, first by using the lower ranked pieces.

The Captain really handled his chess pieces well, Fushimi absentmindedly thought. How far one could go, how useful one could be, how the enemy would react, the powerful man knew. Every piece had a place to be and a role to fulfill. Every move was carefully calculated. Each victory counted, each lost meant something. All for the king.

Fushimi slowly glanced around the room, taking in his surroundings.

The room was fairly large, traditional Japanese style, not exactly cozy, rather more of placid. Maybe a little too clean, a little too bright to his liking. There was no personal belonging lying around, no lousy recycled item, no open window. It was fairly easy to breathe in this room - Fushimi inhaled deeply just to confirm his judgment - yet something was still not right.

On the left, Awashima was threatening Enomoto to eat her anko, which made the poor man’s face paled like a ghost. Goto was trying to distract the Lieutenant in hope to rescue his friend, only to have the table turned on him.

On the right, Benzai and Fuse were nursing a drink, clearly traumatized by his earlier crushing defeat in chess with the king. Camo was offering the depressed men comfort, having tasted the same feeling twice before.

At the center, Akiyama and Doumyouji were forming a double team to fight the Captain in vain, since both of them had no idea how chess worked. They were the last members, excluding Fushimi, to take the torture, so it would be the third-in-command’s turn soon.

It was a mess, really, but at the same time it brought an uncertain feeling to Fushimi’s chest.

The fact that he had agreed to come to a team party and had been dragged into a poker game was a remark of how he had changed. The Homra-period him would never have done it. Seeing his colleagues in their miserable situations right now sparked only a low level of annoyance, not the murderous irritation he had always suffered back then.  Scepter 4 was a better place for him, true enough.

However, there was something wrong with this picture. Something was still missing, like an uncompleted puzzle missing a piece. The whole time in Scepter 4, Fushimi had felt like he was so close to archive a certain goal, but he had clue what exactly the goal was. The lost piece, however, he hated to admit to himself that he knew. After all, there was only one person he wanted enough to just yearn from afar. The person once had been his everything, his small world. The one he had vowed to never let go of. And how unfortunately, it was who he couldn’t have, regardless of how much he was willing to sacrificed.

Of course he knew, the linger feelings hurt both him and Yata at the same time. It was never Yata’s fault, oh god, the ginger had never done anything wrong but to live his life to the fullest.  All of it was his own fault – cutting down the ribbon string they had, only to chain them back by thorny ropes. But even though it was painful to be hurt, so much more painful when seeing Yata be hurt...nothing could come close to the unbearable agony of slowly fading into the background, watching as Yata took another hand so easily if Fushimi purposefully stepped back to see if he’d be followed.

He was taking a big risk this time, Fushimi realized. He had chosen Scepter 4 instead of Homra, as a form of dropping one thing to keep another one, because holding too many would only result in falling down with empty hands. Even so, the craving and the thirst were impossible to erase. It was only the best to give up on the Homra’s vanguard, yet his heart was just not that strong. If love was not permanent, then hatred should do, anything, just to stay significant in Yata’s world.

Because he was afraid. He couldn’t reach out, couldn’t voice his feelings, couldn’t give up, too scared to think of the inevitable end.

Because his own family was nothing but a cruel joke.

Because the kind woman at the supermarket was someone else’s mom.

Because Yamamoto didn’t make it to help him at all.

Because Tamara didn’t steal him away.

Because Yata’s family was a sinful desire.

Because even Yata looked away.

Because Homra was not the place he belonged to.

Because Scepter 4 was lacking something and filled with doubts.

Sometime he wondered what was wrong with the world.

Fushimi startled when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Glaring back, he saw Hidaka looking at him with pleading eyes and greenish face.

“Fushimi-san, please, we just can’t take it anymore! You look like you’re good at chess and you were so close to win earlier. You are the only one who can end this nightmare!”

The younger clansman didn’t answer for a while, making all his subordinates in presence tensed up nervously. When he open his mouth, though, what he said was certainly not within everybody’s prediction.

“Captain, isn’t boring to see every piece move as you expect and want them to?”

“Ah. That’s an interesting question. I find it captivating to see everything follow the path I see that’s laid out in front of me. So my answer is no, it’s not boring at all.”

“I see.” Fushimi moved to sit across the blue king and stared at the chess board.

“Which side would you like to play, Fushimi-kun?”

The whole special unit went unnerved. The query sounded innocent, although they knew there were hidden layers in it, if the red and blue colors of the chess pieces were anything to go by. Worried glances and doubtful peeks were sent to Fushimi, who surprisingly seemed unaffected.

“Blue is fine.” He said flatly, preparing his pawns in graceful movements.

This time, the game between two highest ranked men in Scepter 4 had a strange atmosphere. No sound but the clanks from moving pieces was heard. Both of the players had unreadable faces on, but it was neither scary nor stressful. However, a faint feeling of disoriented was lurking around them, especially Fushimi.

Munakata was the first one to break the silence.

“You are rather good at chess, Fushimi – kun.”

“Not really.”

“Your play style was unique. Do you make it up yourself? Or does someone teach you?”

“No one teaches me.”

Hidaka, being the attentive joy keeper, chimed in.  “Is that so? My parents taught me when I was young though they both were not very good at it.”

“Don’t tell. I’m not interested.”

“Er? Now that I think about it, Fushimi-san never tells a word about your background. Say, where’s your family now?”

Fushimi paused for three seconds in mid move before placing his cerulean bishop on the board. Biting his lips, he ignored the attempt to make small conversation of his underling.

“Hm.” Munakata smiled, then brought his crimson knight forward to take the younger man’s bishop away.

Fushimi’s eyes narrowed as he gazed at the knight. One might think he was shocked by the lost, but that was certainly not the case.

“Captain, I have two questions.”

“Oh..? It’s rare for you to ask anything. I’ll try to answer to the best of my ability.”

The young third-in-command moved another pawn. “Chess is all about serving the kings, right? Is it absolutely necessary to take down the other king to call it a victory?”

“Hm. In normal sense, the rules of chess do claim it to be true. However, people may have their own judgment on how a victory should be. I do believe that these personal achievements can be called victory as well.” A light red rook was pushed to the center of the board.

Fushimi closed his eyes for a moment, tightening the chess piece on his hand. A tiny smile flitted on his lips, too fast for anyone but the blue king to notice, as he shifted his azure knight close to the crimson knight. The two pieces touched for a brief second before Fushimi gently took the knight of the red side away.

Munakata gave an amusing smile, then proceeded to win over the young man’s knight.

“Then, the second one.” Fushimi stopped his Captain’s hand, looking straight into the other with piercing icy eyes. “In the path only the king can see, am I his selected knight, or just an conveniently stolen pawn?”

The absurd question froze everyone stiff, excluding the king. Awashima was about to yell and Akiyama was going to run to Fushimi, but Munakata waved them down. The Captain curled his lips slightly again, clearly unfazed.

“Both and neither, Fushimi-kun, because you asked the wrong question and gave me two wrong options.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” The young clansman said flatly, nowhere near as amused as his superior.

“Just as the chess pieces aren’t necessary to be black and white, they’re not meant to be only red and blue. Your role, indeed, isn’t limited to two options either. If you don’t belong to a place, you always can find another one. The world is vaster and kinder than you may think.”

“Hm. Let me pretend I understand whatever you’ve just spilled.” Fushimi clicked his tongue and stood up.

“Our game hasn’t quite finished yet.”

“To me, it is.”

The bluet had already been at the door when he heard the Captain asked in a serious voice.

“You had passed many crossroads, Fushimi – kun. Have you found what you want yet?”

There was really no escape from that dreadful question, the bluet thought, and a politely formal version of it didn’t make it easier at all, Captain.

Fushimi quietly glanced around the room. A tad too large, too clean, devoid of personal items. His colleagues were looking up at him with weary and concerned expression. Munakata was smiling knowingly. So close, yet still missing something. A little too blue, a little too cold, not nearly enough to fill the emptiness. He was way too aware of the hollow right where his heart was.

He could swear he almost saw some familiar shadows behind them. These figures were considerable warmer, brighter, and filled with laughs. Red aura was dancing around either their head or body. His eyes felt stung, as if he was staring into a blazing fire.

“No, it is out of my reach, Captain.”

On the way back, his tainted Homra tattoo ached terribly, so he scratched it until blood drawn.   

 

**7.**

A lot of things had happened since Totsuka and Mikoto’s death. The mourning affected everyone, not only the clans but also the whole city. The green king made a flashy show of kidnapping children and poisoning people’s mind. Anna became the new red king, which essentially led to major changes in Homra.

A way or another, Scepter 4 and Homra had crossed paths so many times that the kings came to an agreement of joining forces. It went fairly smooth, with Anna being a matured kid and Munakata being his considerate self. Long story short, the two clans were currently on a neutral term, if not a little too familiar with each other. Familiar, as in the sense “Ack, it’s you red/blue guys again? Back down, this time it’s my win!”  

Tangled in the mess and being pulled around by their kings, Fushimi and Yata somehow made it up and more or less passed off as being friendly again, much to everyone’s relief. The process wasn’t easy, by all means. They took nearly half a year of constant fighting, yelling, mocking, breaking public property and cooperating in dangerous events to reach a low level of acquaintanceship. Then another four months went on with a dozen of “sit down, we need to talk” from Yata, ten tricks from their kings, one near death experiments, three tearful confessions, that they finally settled down.

So, Fushimi didn’t really surprise when a new join mission with Homra was suddenly tossed to him on the weekend. What shocked him was the content of the task as well as its date.

On November 7th, the boss of an underground gang, which involved in slaving young strains and trading illegal drug, would likely to make an appearance at a formal party downtown. The main object was to approach him and dig as much information out as possible, which was basically just get Anna safely close to him. Some more side tasks were listed, but they were not as important.

However, the banquet only allowed important figures and their family to attend. In other words, Munakata and Anna were forced to go together, and no doubt they would drag their underlings into a big fake family.

What a joke. And on his birthday, no less. Not that the day had any meaning, though. It was only normal for his birthday to work on the most ridiculous job, it seemed. 

The operation day, Fushimi decided to go ahead, wanting to finish his side missions first. Hacking into the guests data system, drawing the hotel layers, setting hidden cameras and bugs here and there, fairly simple for him, but a perfect excuse to not be included in the stupid pretending family group.

He worked slowly on purpose, however when he was done a good half an hour still left until the party started. With nothing to do, he wandered around the hotel disguised as a bored rich young master, thoroughly in character.

It surprised him to see just how many people were in the building. Granted, the five-star hotel was one of the largest and greatest hotels in Japan, but the amount of people willing to spend their money on it was astounding. Groups after groups came in and out like ocean waves, mostly wealthy families on holidays or on their way to attend the banquet.

Fushimi clicked his tongue, feeling mildly irritated. The sight gave him a strange kind of Déjà vu, like he might have been in a similar situation before, yet entirely different. A foggy memory lurked at the back of his mind, but he was uncertain to welcome it back. He could tell it was there for a reason – being buried, being pushed deep down, being kept away from his conscious – and so he tried to ignore the uncomfortable nagging sentiment.

Countless families kept coming and talking and smiling and generally having fun.

One, two, three, Fushimi unconsciously counted numbers on his head. Only five minutes left until the party. The main group should be here by now.

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock. One hundred, one hundred and one, one hundred and two. Tick tock.

A horrible, sickening taste spread in his mouth, as if he had just chewed on a rotten apple. The more he counted, the more it deepened. Five hundred and six, five hundred and seven.

They were late.  

No, they couldn’t be late, right? It was a mission. They were supposed to come. They must come.

Fushimi gripped his chest, trying his best to not remember anything, to not feel lost, to not panic and tremble. If he kept telling himself that, he might trick himself into believing nothing was wrong at all

( _“But you knew better”_ , someone was laughing, _“you knew that no one would ever come”_.)

“Sir ?” Abruptly, a gentle voice belonged to a charming maid shook Fushimi out of his distress. “Sir, are you alright? You look a little pale.”

“Yes...I am...fine.” The bluet gulped, not really trusting his voice at this moment.

“I noticed you have stood here for a while. Is there something you need?”

“No...I’m here for the banquet.”

“Oh, the one designed for exclusive high-class families?”

“Yes.”

The maid tilted her head and smiled innocently. “I see. Are you waiting for your family?”

Fushimi bit down hard on his lower lip. Not again. He was so, so tired, so sick of this stupid pattern. Why had people found it necessary to ask him that? He honestly didn’t even have a correct answer.

“I...”

Whatever Fushimi was about to say was interrupted by a very loud yell.

“FINALLY! The traffic was terrible. I told you guys that skateboarding would be easier to move and you stuck-up blues just didn’t listen.” Yata practically crashed into the hotel, looking like an escaped beast from the zoo, fancy black suit and all.

“Well, have you ever seen a guy in expensive clothes staking around the city? Me neither.” Hidaka smirked, clearly finding the idea hilarious.

“Misaki looks good in suit. You shouldn’t ruin it.” Anna commented, hands playing with the hem of her lovely crimson dress.

“It’s a surprise, indeed. I’ve never seen him in appropriate clothes, despite all the encounters with the red clan.” Akiyama smiled. He was wearing a nice dark green suit that made him look like a model.

“Trust me, even I haven’t had many chances to witness it.” Kusanagi chuckled, enjoying himself with a cigarette between his lips.

“You should take care of your subordinate more then, mister bartender.” Awashima raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. She was stunning in an elegant sky blue dress and with her hair down.

“I agree. However, since we’re late, let speed up to meet with Saruhiko as soon as possible.” Munakata gave the group a brief reminder. “Oh, there he is.”

Fushimi’s eyes widened at the mixed up group. The closer they got the faster his heart pounded, so much that he began to feel light-headed.

“Saruhiko, it’s a little late, but we’re here.” Munakata greeted him with a gentle smile.

Yata threw an arm over his shoulders, laughing brightly. “It’s fine, isn’t it? It can never be too late, right?”

Hidaka and Akiyama nodded and joined the one-armed hug. Normally Fushimi would push them away, but right now he didn’t have the heart to do it.

“Happy birthday, Saruhiko.” Anna grabbed his hand and gave it a tiny squeeze. A warm feeling spread through his whole body, all the way from his fingertips to deep in his chest.

Kusanagi and Awashima shook their heads lightly, then extended their hands to Fushimi.

“Come on, let go. After this mission is over we’ll get to your birthday party!”

Fushimi stared at the sight. He could barely hear the maid beside him said something about his family being cute.

Yata pushed him lightly from behind and smiled with faint red cheeks, looking like an angel.

Warm and gentle. Hands offering to him and hugs wrapping around his shoulders. Kindness and acceptance. A bit of red, a bit of blue. Maybe a little mismatched, a little messed up, but perfect. Perfect, and Fushimi wouldn’t have it any other way.

“You guys sure are late...but I guess it’s all right.” For the first time in years, he allowed himself to crack a genuinely happy smile, eyes shone with lively lights.

Fushimi took the hands, and stepped in the middle of red and blue, dyeing himself in a brilliant purple world.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please read and review. If you have any request for bonus chapter, just suggest it in the comment and I'll consider writing it!


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